The Wound Is The Place Where The Light Enters You
by coffeemuse
Summary: Tumblr fill prompt. I have decided to make this multichapter. Little ficlets of Kate and/or Castle getting hurt and the other one being there for them. (Some cuteness, some angst, some silliness.)
1. Chapter 1

**During a particularly cold night, Kate's scar at her side aches and pulls a bit. Castle and his large warm hands come to the rescue. _  
_**

**A Tumblr prompt fill.**

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_"The wound is the place where the Light enters you."_

― Rumi

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It's been a few years since the shooting - since the surgery, but every now and again, usually when it's really cold, Kate's scars hurt. She used to joke with Castle and tell him that she always knew when it was going to snow. He'd reply with "Oh, yeah? News tell you that?" And she'd say, "No, my scars did." She always meant for it to be funny, but he never laughed.

Like tonight. It's the beginning of December and it's 15 degrees outside. The sidewalks and roads are icy and although she's bundled up in a sweater, coat, and a scarf, her skin still prickles and pulls at her scar.

Luckily they're walking into the entrance of Castle's building now, and soon she'll be warm and the bunched up tissue on her side will stop aching.

As they walk inside and shed their winter attire, Kate subconsciously rubs at her scar. Castle notices out of the corner of his eye and glances over at her.

"What's wrong?"

She looks at him sympathetically, because this issue seems to hurt him more than her, physically anyway. "My scar is pulling a little bit. It'll stop soon." She smiles at him, and he smiles back, although she can tell it's forced. She knows that every time she mentions her battle wounds, he's right back to that day, watching the life slowly drain out of her. It's been years, and it still haunts him.

She walks into their bedroom, rounds the corner to the main bathroom to get changed into her pajamas when she notices that he's followed her. She takes off her shirt, flings it to the corner to pick up later. "Castle?"

He stalks up to her. His big hands, which are now warm, settle at her sides, his palm enveloping the scar at her side. She can feel the heat radiating off of him and onto her skin. With his body warmth and the pressure of his hand as he rubs her side, and she feels the tissue loosen making the ache start to disappear.

She leans into him and wraps her arms around his midriff. "I'm okay, Castle."

He tightens his arms all the way around her, pulls her in as close as he can get her and rests his chin on top of her head.

"I know."

She smiles and leans back, searching his face. He's smiling. Genuinely smiling. Because he knows that she's okay. Knows that he couldn't help her then, but he's helping her now. More than he probably realizes.

She kisses his chest and steps out of his embrace. "C'mon, babe. Let's go to bed."

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Tumblr: coffee-muse

Twitter: kateofthecastle

(Links in profile)

xo,  
B.


	2. Cold Hands

Since this got a lot of action on Tumblr, I thought I'd carry on with the idea. I'm having the worst time with writers block and I'm hoping my little nonsense ideas will help me burst through it...

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**_With my cold hands, I'll warm your wounds._  
**

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"Rick?" Kate calls out softly into the quietness of the dark loft. She tip toes out of their bedroom pulling an old NYPD hoodie on over her head. The hardwood floor is cold beneath her, the sharmpess biting into her toes as she walks. She tosses her hair up into a messy bun as she makes her way into the kitchen. The entire loft is dark and cold and too quiet.

She sees a shadowed figure standing in the kitchen and she makes her way to it. Sure enough, her husband is leaning against the island counter with an icepack pressed against his ribs. His eyes are closed and his head is thrown back and he's taking small shallow breaths, his chest barely rises with each inhale.

She comes to stand in front of him, her toes cracking on the cold tile, and takes the icepack from him. "Lemme see." He breathes out a small shakey breathe and raises his shirt. His entire middrift is nearly bruised now. The center of it a dark purple colour, almost black. Luckily he was wearing his vest tonight.

"You should probably go lay down. It can't feel too good being up and moving." She lowers his grey cotton t-shirt and grabs his hand, lightly pulling him with her.

"Your hands are cold," is all he says as she leads him to their bedroom, it's barely a whisper. She runs the pad of her thumb over the back of his warm hand.

He's stumbling along behind her, tiredness webbing through his eyeballs. It hurts every time he inhales. His whole body is sore...he hopes he's able to sleep tonight; that the pain meds the E.R gave him kick in fast enough.

As they reach the bed, Kate pulls back the covers and helps him sit down. He closses his eyes in a hiss, and she grimaces for him as he tries to lower himself completley onto the mattress. She quickly crawls into bed beside him, the events of the night dragging her down into the softness of the blankets as soon as she envolpes herself in them. Her eyes slip closed without her consent, but fly open as she hears her busband gasp. She flips onto her side to face him and she can't tell if he's on the verge of crying or screaming, but the look on his face makes her think possibly both.

He's been through this before, the last time it was quite literally at point blank range, and somehow that wasn't even as bad as it is now. She wants to joke about it being his old age, but the tears resting at the corner of his eye makes her second guess it.

She scoots closer to him, her body flush against his left side. He brings his hand up to rests on her thigh, the warmness radiating from it welcoming. He squeezes and looks over at her.

"Forgot the icepack," He blinks and a stray tear sweeps across his cheek. She thumbs it away, pouting at him."You're killing me here, babe."

"How?" He repositions his head so that he's looking down at her. "I hate seeing you like this," she sighs, "and also I'm too cold to get back out of bed." He chuckles at her but quickly stops, his eyes crinkle in pain.

"Here," she says softly. She skims her hands over his stomach, the skin beneath it pimpling as she does so. She rests her hand over his ribs, right above the spot where he got shot.

"What're you doing?" He rasps tiredly. His eyes drifting closed, his head sinking further into the pillow. The pain meds must be kicking in.

"Making use of my cold hands."

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Links to my Twitter and Tumblr are in my profile, if you're interested.

xo,  
B.


End file.
